Gooey
by scriggly
Summary: Sherlock gives Mycroft a break from a hectic day at work. WARNING: Explicit sibling incest.


Mycroft is _exhausted._

The summit is in three days, and if they don't find the missing ambassador today, he doesn't know what he might do. He wants to go _home. _Anthea seems to have become molded to her chair as well. Mycroft decides unfolding from a chair after three hectic sleepless nights will likely prove a challenge. He wonders if his body will even remember how to adopt a horizontal position.

He surveys the other foreign ambassadors and various English politicians sitting glumly around the meeting table. And glaring at Sherlock. It's their fault, Mycroft thinks scornfully. _They_ insisted that Sherlock join the meeting. Of course Sherlock would deduce no less than seven potentially scandalous secrets in the 10 minutes he has been in the room. Mycroft's lips tingle with the memory of kissing Sherlock this morning (the single bright spot in these three days in _hell_) as his eyes fall on Sherlock's lush mouth. Sherlock is already taking a deep breath, no doubt about to hint at another scandal. _Oh God._

Mycroft knows Sherlock will eventually solve the mystery of the missing ambassador… just as soon as he is done showing off. (In fact, Sherlock's attitude means he has already solved it, and the ambassador is in no imminent danger.) At the opposite end of the table, Anthea's face is a tired mixture of fondness and exasperation at Sherlock's antics. Mycroft miserably suspects she's mirroring the expression on his own face.

Mycroft lets his eyes rest for a moment on his brother. Their gazes meet for a fraction of a second. Something like concern flashes in Sherlock's beautiful eyes. He snaps his mouth shut, visibly swallowing back whatever scandal he was going to needle the French ambassador with.

Sherlock is finally going to actually solve the case just for Mycroft's sake, he realises. Something warm bubbles up in his chest, taking the edge off the exhaustion.

Sherlock clears his throat. "I'd like to consult with my brother alone for a moment, please. It seems a matter of national importance might be linked to this."

_National importance. _Mycroft mentally rolls his eyes. No one can argue against that, of course. Mycroft resists the urge to shake his head in exasperation as he follows Sherlock out of the conference room and into Mycroft's office.

Sherlock locks the door and turns to him. "Close your eyes."

"Sherlock, please. The meeting-"

"Please. Just for a moment. Close your eyes."

Mycroft complies, wondering at the absence of mischief in Sherlock's voice. He's too knackered to deduce his brother. The minibar Sherlock has insisted Mycroft install in his office squeaks faintly. Sherlock wants refreshments _now?_ Mycroft fights the way his limbs seem to want to droop downwards and grumbles. "I might fall asleep standing here, Sherlock. You can't possibly want to drink or-"

Sherlock's kiss is soft and warm… and tastes faintly of orange. Sherlock's tongue nudges Mycroft's mouth open. Mycroft's eyes fly open as something sweet and gooey is transferred from Sherlock's mouth to his.

Cake. Dark chocolate orange cake, he realises in pleasure.

Sherlock places a sticky kiss on his lips while the sweet treat melts in his mouth. "You haven't been home in three days and I know you didn't eat last night or this morning. You nearly dozed through the blow job I gave you here this morning. I don't even want to imagine your blood sugar levels. I already know where the ambassador is. We'll wrap up this stupid case and go home."

"Well, where is he? And I can eat after-"

Sherlock attacks him with another mouthful. The rich flavours of dark chocolate and refreshing orange burst on his tongue. His fingers card through Sherlock's silky curls. Sherlock purrs into his mouth. Mycroft finds his exhaustion and anxiety slowly lifting as Sherlock's clean scent dazzles his senses, Sherlock's taste mingling with the sweet creaminess in his mouth.

Before Sherlock can feed him a third mouthful, Mycroft pulls him into a long kiss. "Are you sure you know where the ambassador is? I'm not sure about your deductive prowess today."

Sherlock gasps, scandalised. "What? Of _course _I-"

Mycroft cuts him off with another kiss, pulling his unresisting brother flush against him. "You think I dozed off. While my cock," he whispers, "was in your mouth."

Sherlock stutters into the kiss. "Maybe you can prove I was wrong. Let's finish here and go home. Then we'll see if you can stay awake while you're fucking my mouth."

Mycroft's knees nearly give out. He surrenders gladly to being fed the rest of the slice from Sherlock's mouth, his hands resting on Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock laps at Mycroft's lips after feeding him the last bite. Sherlock dabs at their mouths with a wet wipe, removing any traces of cake. Right before they leave, Mycroft stops Sherlock, his hand cradling Sherlock's cheek. "Thank you. I really do feel much better."

Sherlock beams.

One more minute before they go back, Mycroft thinks, and kisses him again.


End file.
